


Blackhart's Fate

by Partran



Category: Furry (Fandom)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Latex, M/M, Oral Sex, Transformation, straight jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Partran/pseuds/Partran
Summary: A story written as a Christmas present for a long time friend of mine.Themes: Latex bodysuit/transformation, bondage, public use, mild hypnotic drugs, hyena and lions, all M/M.Blackhart, the notorious thief, winds up in trouble and at the tender mercies of Magistrate Basul
Kudos: 5





	Blackhart's Fate

Blackhart's Fate  
By: Partran  
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/Partran

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This story contains improbable bondage, sex, furries, hyenas, lions, and its all quite gay, dipped in latex, and wrapped in heavy canvas. 18+ only  
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Blackhart leaned back against the unhelpfully solid and well built stone wall of his cell, glaring down at the admittedly fresh straw on the floor. The magistrate of the city didn't shirk his responsibilities to the inmates and he hadn't suffered any beatings after his capture and imprisonment, but it galled the would be master thief that he had been caught on the heist at all. Now the low born lion leaned back and waited for his fate to be decide by the notoriously unmerciful, if dutiful, magistrate of the great city of Olan. The lock to his cell, a simple yet magical device, offered no opening for him to attempt to pick it and the hinges were well seated and not something lightly put together. Magistrate Basul was as careful and dutiful with the maintenance of the cells as he was their furnishing.

Standing beyond the bars of the cell, in the middle of the circular jail tower, the hyena guards stood, back to back, watching the scant few people who were foolish enough to let themselves be caught within Olan. The Illustrious Guild of Purloiners and Procurers had almost no presence here with the draconian laws and the extremely thorough policing of the police force. Drawn from the lower caste males who were looking to improve their stations, the magistrates of the city of Olan invested heavily in their combined police and military force, rewarding duty and responsibility over individual glory and promotions were sure ways to earn marriage and breeding rights, so everyone who joined did their best to achieve these goals.

Blackhart, however, didn't expect to be treated kindly by the magistrate as the attempted theft was of Basul's personal alchemical pharmacopeia. The magistrate was a renowned alchemist and his personal alchemical recipes would be worth an incalculable amount of crowns on the black market. It had been an unfortunate late night discovery by Basul that had landed the lion lad in this cell now. Blackhart had climbed the walls, silently entered the third floor laboratory windows, even avoided detection by the bat patrols before he had just been walked in on. The magistrate was supposed to be staying late at his harem and had apparently decided to return home with a migraine and went to make himself something to dull the pain. It must have done the elder lion's mood no good to discover a black-clad lanky bachelor lion halfway through picking the lock on his bookshelf. The chase that followed had not lasted long, half a dozen hyenas and bats made it too quick for him to be caught and end up in this well built cell without a single scrap of optimistically loose bricks or stones.

A noise from outside the cell woke Blackhart from his reverie and he reached up to brush his black tipped mane from his face and stood, walking to the bars of his cell to look out. The hyena guards in the middle of the room joined the inmates in watching the approaching slaves, all dressed in clean white togas, as they brought in the morning meal. Almost always some boiled meat and brown bread, it was filling and a damn sight better than what most of the jails he'd been in served their inmates. However the slaves who brought the food, a rat girl and a male lion whose mane was cut almost down to the level of the rest of his fur both with year tallies on their collars showing how many more years the had to serve their sentences, passed by his cell when handing out food. They simply walked by after looking at the number on the cell and checking a list, handing the wooden bowls to the next in line.

"Hey!" Blackhart shouted to the guards in the middle of the jail floor, knowing the slaves were just following orders and having learned earlier that they would not even talk to him if he whispered. "Where's my food?"

The hyenas exchanged a glance, their short thick necks making them have to turn their upper bodies to accomplish this, as if trying to decide whose job it was to reply to the mouthy lion that had been trying to rob their boss. Apparently one lost this little exchange and turned to walk towards the cell so as to not shout. Loose leather strap skirts with metal plates and brigandine armor with a gray and green tabard marked with the emblem of the city was their uniform and it clung to the top heavy hyenas in a mildly ill-fitting fashion. The guard that approached stopped outside of arm's reach of the cell, short spear in hand with the butt resting on the stone floor and tilted his head to fix the lion with his brown eyes, "Orders were that you are not getting fed today. You are being judged today. If you are brought back we feed you then."

With that the guard turned and walked back to his post and his partner before settling back into the neutral pose and posture of someone with hours of staring at people in cages left before he could go back to the barracks. Blackhart sat back down with a grunt and started thinking hard. Judged? That's faster than usual. Some of the prisoners here had been here for months before their judgment was decided, he'd barely been here four days. It must have been because Basul was involved and also the person responsible for the judges in the city. Nothing like pissing off the boss for being fast-tracked. It was another hour after the slaves bearing food left before the prison door opened again and two more guards came in. A quick discussion with the guards already here and an exchange of paperwork later they came to Blackhart's cell.

"Prisoner will turn around and present arms behind themselves." The smallest of the four hyenas said. He was dressed in the same uniform as the others only with a higher rank badge on the chest. Though where the others were armed with spears he had a short sword on his hip.

Considering his options for a moment, Blackhart decided that at the moment the three open to him were to comply, to resist and be beaten with the butt of spears until he complied, or to fight and be poked to death with spears through the bars of his cage. Sighing inwardly he turned his back to the bars and put his arms behind him, standing close enough to the front of the cell so they could clap the manacles on his wrists. Once that operation was done he stood still as the one with the sword pulled out the cell keys and worked the locking mechanism. Within moments he was being marched out the heavy oak and iron door of the jail and into the early morning light of the city. Well, not the whole city, the walled off portion of it where the justice resided.

It was a lovely sunny day, the faint scent of the sea wafted over the tall stone walls that shaded this area of the city. Blackhart glanced as he walked for places to climb should he figure out a way to open that cell door and slip past the unfairly alert guards.

"So... Was Basul particularly upset?" The lion said in a light tone as he saw a few likely looking rough patches of stone and mortar that might give him a place to climb. "You know, I didn't hurt anyone getting in and all. Just a misunderstanding."

"Magistrate Basul was very thorough in making his displeasure known to Captain Rogar who took great pains to explain to his command staff the depth of that unhappiness. They, in turn, made sure that those of us beneath them in rank were similarly informed." The ranked member of his escort said with a voice that began pleasant but ended in a low growl. "They were particularly impressed with your use of prostitutes to distract one of the patrols. You, my lion friend, have earned a special notoriety among those of us currently assigned to the guard."

Considering this, Blackhart thought that had an ominous sound to it and made a note to avoid Olan for a long time should he manage to make good an escape. 

Eventually he was taken through the military quarter, along the straight smooth stone paved roads, and into the imposingly tall and stark building that housed the courtrooms and central guardhouse. As they had progressed, Blackhart couldn't help but feel more and more eyes on him of the mostly hyena city watch. Many of them were openly glaring at him and muttering to adjacent comrades. Despite his attempt to look cool and aloof from all of it, something that often came easy to lions, he felt a deep misgiving as to his long term prospects.

Down the hall and up stairs he was led until through a side door into a courtroom. The large room would have normally held the judge and possibly some people sitting on benches in the back as an audience as well as whatever lawyers and witnesses would be needed for whatever trial, but Blackhart was surprised to find the room was empty save himself, his escort, and one judge sitting in the high seat in full robes of office. His surprise quickly melted to unease as he recognized the judge was none other than Magistrate Basul himself.

"Your Justice." Said the ranking member of his escort with a bow towards the raised seat on which the older lion sat, "I bring before you the prisoner accused of trespass and thwarted theft so that you may render upon him justice."

Basul nodded at that and turned his baleful gaze on Blackhart, "You will notice that there are is no one else present here, boy. In this case I am both the aggrieved and the judge, as well as the witness. Your guilt is not something that even need be proven but merely entered into record. From there I will decide your punishment."

"Wait!" Blackhart said, tugging at the hands of the guard holding his arm, "Don't I get to defend myself? Don't I at least get some kind of trial?"

The Magistrate seemed to give this argument some thought before shaking his head. "No. You do not." With that he turned to the officer, "I have decided. He is to be reduced to the rank of slave for a period of ten years in accordance with the law. Seeing as he caused no harm to anyone during the enactment of his crime or even his apprehension that will be lessened to a sentence of five years as an asset of the city. We will reconvene in a year as is customary to see if his behavior and benefit to the city has either shortened or lengthened his term of slavery."

Shocked, Blackhart tugged against the powerful grip of the guards, jerking forward as he was held and the sound of bared steel behind him told him that the officer had drawn his sword. "That's not fair. You said yourself I didn't hurt anyone. No one was killed. The worst that happened was some of your guards got laid."

Basul stood, looking down upon the young lion as he tried to plead his case and slip out of the arms of the guard, "It is, I feel, more than fair. You will be rehabilitated, put to use to benefit the city to repay your crimes. I suspect a just and appropriate punishment will teach you a great deal about yourself and your place." With that he turned to the officer, "Return him to his cell. I will see about his assignment myself. We are adjourned."

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Two days later Blackhart was back in his cell, awaiting punishment instead of his 'trial.' The perfunctory nature of it galled him, but he was relieved hadn't been whipped or branded as might happen in other cities. At least he hadn't been branded or whipped yet. Once again he watched the slaves bearing the food pass by and he got a twist in the pit of his stomach, anticipating what was to happen next.

Sure enough not long after the guards brought to his cell a pair of serious looking soldiers. A hyena and a wolf, the latter being uncommon this far south, both in the breastplate and mail of serious house guards or military guard appointments. They bore the colors of Basul's household and the guards here showed them deference.

"This him?" The wolf said as the jailer took the paper from him.

"Yeah, that's Blackhart. Prisoner 331." The jailer gave the document a looking over and the seal a sniff, "Basul's gonna take him? Weird. Ain't never heard him to take a prison slave before."

The wolf gave a shrug, "Seems he's got an interest. Don't blame him. If I'd been on duty that night I'd have given him a good kicking when we caught him."

Nodding in agreement the heavy set jailer turned to face the lion where he stood in his cell, "Alright, turn, back to the door, you know how this goes. You are officially a slave now. Property of the City of Olan. You have the right to not be beaten or killed unless you attempt escape or the harm of a citizen of equal or higher status than you. That includes other slaves. Should you ever injure or kill a slave of the city you will assume their term on top of your own. You will serve Basul's household how he sees fit until such time as he sells your chit back to the city or you have fulfilled your obligation. Do you understand?"

Seeing no way out yet and mind already piecing together what he knew of Basul's estate he gave a nod, "Yeah, I understand." He'd already broken into the magistrate's home once, surely escaping it wouldn't be too difficult all he needed to do was keep his head down long enough to find the right opportunity to skip out and leave the city. With this in mind he turned and put his arms behind him as they affixed the cuffs.

It was a short ride in the back of an open cart before he arrived at Basul's estate. The tall outer stone wall that Blackhart had climbed was familiar and he already knew where it was closest to tall buildings on the other side. Entering it in the back of an open wagon, in a white slave's tunic, through the front gate was a new experience however.

He was driven to the servants entrance at the back of the main house and unloaded from the wagon before being led down into the cellar. While the city only allowed slaves owned by the city within its walls now, it had in the past allowed wealthy citizens to own their own. As such many of the manor houses now still had cells built beneath them and Basul's manor was no exception. Blackhart was deposited in the stone walled cell under the house. The small cell boasted fresh straw and the few neighboring cells sharing the room with him were all full of crates and barrels. It occurred to the lion that the cell had likely been used for storage until he was stuck here.

His cell was at the far end of the room from the entrance and the guards, once he was deposited and the cell door locked, left him to his own devices and went to sit by the only entrance into the room. Straw, bucket, an actual blanket, two stone walls in good repair and walls that were bars or bars and door. The only bonus was that the lock to this door seemed to be a nonmagical lock.

It was at the end of this inspection of his accommodations that he heard someone coming down the hall. Talking to the guards was a woman's voice. A deep husky rumble of a feline voice. Standing and turning to look down the hallway there was a tall and fit lioness walking with the wolf and hyena guard in attendance.

"Be at ease, Lupos, I will not be in any danger. I just wish to see what kind of thing Master Basul has brought into my house." The deeply feminine voice said in a rumble like sweet smoke.

It must have been the 'lady of the house' Basul's head wife. Blackhard had no idea what her name was but was struck speechless when he saw her. Standing slightly taller than he and toned in a way that looked sculpted rather than born, she was a perfect harmony of shape and curve beneath her stylishly loose dress that was cinched at the waist. The shape of her distracted him for long moments before he realized that what he had thought were tight black leather gloves and boots were some sleek oily coating that fit her body like tight silk. Realizing this he could see that she was covered in this shiny oily hide from just beneath her jaws all the way to the end of her tail where the black hide stopped to reveal the well manicured tuft of her leonine tail.

He must have been staring for a few long moments because she had obviously finished her appraisal of him by the time her words cut through his puzzlement and surprising arousal.

"As raw material he leaves something to be desired, though I am sure my husband will find some use for him." Her head was tilted as she stared at Blackhart and he, out of reflex, did his best to puff out his chest and look like a rakishly handsome outlaw not some petty thief who'd gotten caught and was in slave whites. She either wasn't impressed or didn't notice. Turning he could catch a glimpse of her impossibly perfect body as it was wrapped in that black skin and the highlights ran along it like liquid. He could hear her voice trailing off as she walked away, leading the two guards back to their post, "He is good at making things better than they were."

The next day that process began. Blackhart woke to the sounds of the guards walking down the hall outside his cell behind Magistrate Basul. No longer dressed in the robes of his office, the older lion was dressed in casual empire styled clothing. Knee high boots, loose pants, a wide sash of a belt, and today he had decided to forgo a shirt. Cream fur on his front that turned more tawny and gold along his sides and back that changed into a thick chestnut mane. He was fit for his age, hell he was fit for someone half his age, and his personality filled the room with an imperious ease.

"Alright Lupos, lets get him out and take him upstairs. I wish the physician to inspect him before we begin." The by now familiar ritual of turning and having his wrists cuffed proceeded and he was led upstairs and into a room of smooth tile floors and sturdy tables. Shelves full of various bottles and jars and apparatuses made from squiggly bits of glass seemed to fill all the shelves but the work surfaces were smooth metal cleaned to a shine. In the center of the room was a large wooden table with suspicious looking cuffs on the four corners. In the midst of all of this was an almost painfully slender ibis with glasses perched on his beak. Wearing the sash of the doctor's guild it was obvious he was here as a representative of the city to do an initial inspection. Without even looking at Blackhart, the ibis spoke with Basul and ordered the younger lion to strip. The following inspection was thorough and clinical. Slender fingers tugged at fur and looked at eyes and ears, notes were made, his sheath and scrotum were gripped and pressed at, questions were asked about pains or injuries. Within an hour the ibis seemed satisfied that the newly minted slave of the city was in sufficiently good health as to be able to assume whatever duties Basul had planned for him. With a final nod and the exchange of papers the ibis was politely led out. With that Basul motioned for the guards to return Blackhart to his cell.

Blackhart wondered at this as he sat back in his cell waiting for the evening meal to be provided. He was a slave, was he not? And yet he'd done nothing but be inspected and sit in this cell for a day. He'd expected to be lifting heavy rocks or carrying crates by now. Instead he sat in a moderately comfortable and rather clean cell listening to two guards either talk or play some game of dice while he sat. He thought that should that be his entire life now that he'd go mad of boredom long before the first year of his term was out. He was relieved when just the arrival of dinner provided some break in the tedium. He was truly surprised that it was Basul appeared with a white, ceramic cup and handed it to him.

"Drink this." He said in conversational yet commanding tones.

Taking the heavy cup he looked into it and sniffed. A thick, dark brown sludge lay in the large cup and seemed to glisten as he gazed at it. It smelled of nothing much at all save perhaps smoke or faintly of burnt plants.

"What is it?" Blackhart risked asking as he glanced from the cup up to the golden-amber eyes of his 'owner.'

"A healthy mix of herbs and such. It is similar to what I and my wives use to keep us fit. I have a responsibility to the city to see you are kept healthy and made of use to it."

Considering what he'd seen of Basul and his head wife the proof of its efficacy of this concoction was hard to deny. Wincing at the taste and the slimy, oily feel of it, Blackhart tipped the cup back and swallowed it down. When done he handed the cup back to Basul with a grimace, "I suspect you take more time with the flavor for your head wife."

"Certainly. She also needs less of it now. You will have more in the morning." The older lion said tersely before turning to leave.7

Blackhart wanted to protest that one large mug of whatever that sludge had been would hardly be enough to feed him, but he felt full now, surprisingly sated. It sat heavy enough on his stomach that he felt tired as one might after a heavy meal. There was a somnolence that stole over him as he watched Basul go that made him yawn and crawl to the corner of his cell where his blanket and a particularly dense pile of straw wait for him. A small part of him felt puzzled as he crawled under the blanket and a tinier still part of him felt alarmed at how quickly sleep had come for him but soon all those concerns vanished into a velvety darkness of remarkably peaceful sleep.

Blackhart remembered little of the next few days, waking feeling rested but hungry, and then again the face of Basul and some casual idle chatter before another mug of that thick, burnt herb sludge. He remembered being vaguely startled as his fur had started to come out in patches but not truly scared. The skin beneath was a dusky sort of color that darkened each day to an eventual shiny black. It wasn't until some time later he woke up feeling like himself. He still lay in the cell, head resting on his arm, his breath leaving a faint fog on the sleek dark hide. Blinking he raised his head and looked along the admittedly more muscular appearing limb and flexed his short, thick fingers. The dark skin shifted smoothly as he flexed his hand and forearm and then extended his claws. The white crescents of his claws stood out starkly on the dark hide as he considered his changed hand dispassionately. Glancing down he still wore the white slave tunic but his other arm and his legs were all also that smooth, shiny black hide. He lifted his hand and touched his face, feeling the pressure and the warmth of the touch but the actual sensation was muted as if through a glove or mask. Opening his muzzle he stuck out his flat, pantherine tongue and looked at it. Still pink/red like it should be. That was a blessing at least.

He knew in his heart he should be panicking now, terrified at the strange sensations and changes, but something kept him from losing his shit. He was concerned but not truly terrified. Placing one hand on the wall he stood and realized he felt fine otherwise. Nothing ached, nothing bothered him, like the touch of his hand on his own face, everything felt muted but not bad. His ears swiveled forward towards the exit of the cellar as he heard the now familiar sound of Basul approaching.

"Good morning Blackhart." He said as he held the mug of the strange oily mix. "Good to see you've come to yourself."

Blackhart stepped to the bars of his cell, opening his mouth to say something suitably dashing and snarky only to find no words would come. In fact he didn't even feel the breath pass over his tongue and mouth. He WAS breathing, though, his chest rose and fell and air passed through his nostrils just not his mouth and no sound passed his throat. He stared wide-eyed at Basul fists gripping the bars of his cell as he attempted wordlessly to demand an answer.

The magistrate stood with a distinct look of interest on his face, ears up and forward as he watched Blackhart's gesticulations. "I assume you want to know what's happened to you?" At the younger lion's nod the elder continued, "You are being made more useful to the city and in return more resilient to the work I will be putting you to. That doesn't mean that we have to listen to your objections. Your objections are meaningless until next year when the auditor arrives to see you are in good health and that you have not been abused. If you do what you are told you will be fed, cared for, and made an asset."

At the mention of 'being fed' Blackhart felt a mixture of need and revulsion. He could see the gently steaming mug of herbal slop in the other lion's hand and both hungered for it and was terrified as he realized that it was that mixture that had made these changes. Seeing his eyes drawn to it, Basul offered the mug without saying a word, watching carefully how Blackhart responded to the offer.

After a brief internal struggle, the younger lion reached out a black and sleek hand to grip the mug. In a distant part of his mind he noticed the heat from the cup was also hard to feel through his new skin and against his better judgment he gulped down the mixture eagerly, still managing to give Basul a sharp glare as he felt the satisfaction fill him and his belly warm with the mixture. With that Blackhart reached his hand back out, empty mug in hand, and then dropped it just as Basul reached to take it, letting it fall. Blackhart was disappointed when it clunked and clattered but didn't break.

Crouching, Basul picked up the mug and didn't seem to even acknowledge the younger lion's tiny act of defiance. The confidence and assurity the other lion radiated seemed bone deep and Blackhart felt cowed by it even if he refused to give the older lion the satisfaction of seeing it.

A scene much like this repeated itself twice a day for three more days, but without the initial near hibernation that the first few doses had caused. Each day Blackhart felt more remote from the sensations of his skin and on the second day when he stuck out his tongue to inspect it the rosy pink color had been replaced by black spots that continued to spread as he obsessively stuck his tongue out to check every couple of hours. He felt no pain as this happened, in fact he felt more muffled and insulated from sensation the longer it went on. A week after he had been escorted into this cell his claws fell out.

Blackhart stared at his hands as Basul returned, the younger lion sitting now on the floor and staring at his now clawless fingers. He glanced up at the magistrate and then back down at his hands. The younger lion was utterly cowed now. Something in him had tied the idea that as long as he had his claws he'd had a weapon of some kind and thus some hope of escape. Now even those small things were taken from him. He didn't even feel rage or terror as he knew he should. Even those things were muted. With the painless dropping of his claws as he watched this morning the feeling of being pressed on all sides by a numbness had become oppressive beyond words.

He was shaken awake from that numbness in a small way by the sound of metal on metal. Turning his eyes to Basul he saw the guards had joined the Magistrate today and one was opening his cell. It all still was so very remote as he heard Basul tell him to stand and he did so, not feeling it was worth the effort of refusing. At this point he had begun to harbor doubts it was even his body he was in anymore, so much of a passenger removed from the experience he had become. He hardly listened as Basul spoke to the guards.

"He will be docile, but slow. Let him follow us to my chamber and catch him should he fall. He may be unsteady or merely disinclined to take care."

The guards probably said something to the affirmative at that but Blackhart walked as if in a trance between the guards and behind the magistrate into the smooth stone corridors of his manor house. His chamber was just a large room on the second floor with curiously barred windows and a large wooden table in the middle. Shelves and cabinets lined the walls interspersed with workbenches and a vast variety of alchemical tools. White ceramic, blown glass, heavy braziers and small glass bottles with wicks for boiling flasks all stood in neat, carefully placed rows. The room was meticulously clean and organized.

Basul dismissed the guards, instructing them to stand outside the door and to have a servant clean Blackhart's cell, before turning to the captive lion in his white tunic.

"Undress." Basul ordered.

As Blackhart began to numbly comply the older lion walked around in a lazy circle to see how the muscles of an already fit and healthy young lion had become much more defined and toned with the combination of the potion's health benefits and the fact that any obscuring fur had fallen free and been replaced with a sleek inky black sheen of rubbery skin. As the white tunic fell to the stone floor, forgotten by Blackhart as soon as the action was done, Basul placed a hand on the other lion's upper back and squeezed gently at the contours of muscles.

"Can you feel that?" Basul asked as the dark hide dimpled under his fingers. 

Blackhart nodded mutely but only a little as the sensation had been far away.

"And this?" Basul asked, his voice MUCH closer than before. 

It took Blackhart a moment before he realized that the older lion was pressed chest to his back and Basul had Blackhart's cock in his hand. Glancing down in surprise Blackhart saw his prick, now black and sleek as the rest of him, was being gripped and even stroked. He could feel it, yes, but it was so far away that even the erection that grew from him seemed to be numb as well. Both the sudden and unexpected fondling and the fact it was the Magistrate doing it were shocking but simultaneously unmoving to Blackhart. This continued for a moment, the surprise as much as everything else keeping Blackhart still during this 'examination.' After a moment the hand let go and Basul casually walked back around him.

"You hardly felt that, am I right?" Basul asked to Blackhart's wide-eyed questioning look as the younger lion backed up until he bumped up against the table. After a moment Blackhart nodded and reached a hand down to rub his own dick, feeling practically nothing but distant pressure before he looked up at Basul again questioningly.

Without answering the questions in Blackhart's eyes the older lion motioned to the table, "Lay down, on your back."

Once again Blackhart felt as if he were remote in his own body again, the brief near-lucidity of the surprise of being groped like some dock-side man whore washing away the moment the older lion gave him a command. Without pause he lifted himself up and lay back onto the smooth wooden table.

Basul directed him to raise his arms and spread his legs and shortly he was laying flat on his back, arms over his head and cuffed down with his ankles similarly cuffed and spread. None of this seemed even to be under his control. He knew it was his body and that he was the one making the motions but anything he was told to do by Basul just happened and he did willingly because at the time it seemed so much easier than any other option. To be honest Blackhart started to feel as if he could drift away at any time, simply becoming nothing but a faint sentience barely concerned with anything at all. He should be scared of that, he knew, because it seemed a short path to simply fading away totally and there was certainly a part of him that did NOT want that. The numbness was just... everywhere within him and without and so dispassionately he watched the older lion work.

Basul toiled for a time at the bench before coming back and taking hold of Blackhart's head, turning it this way and that to inspect it for a moment before walking away and then coming back holding a ceramic bowl and a thin tipped paint brush. Blackhart felt compelled to be very still at Basul's command and then the older lion lifted the brush with a bright red 'paint' on the bristles and began to work. The touch was so light that Blackhart could not tell what was being done and again began to drift.

Then, like a curtain being thrown open or ice being thrown into a bonfire, sensation slammed into Blackhart. The sudden shock of feeling drove into him and with a buck and shudder, twisting in his restraints, he felt the electrical fire of orgasm shock him to total clarity. Basul was running a finger along his lips, but instead of the previous deadened distant feeling he had unknowingly become used to, this sensation was everything.

Just the brush of the other lion's finger on his lips made him shudder in pleasure. It was sensation again thrust into a world of muted numbness and Blackhart groaned for more. Whatever it was Basul had painted on his lips had made him ache to press them to his Master's touch, to any touch, because it was a brilliant flame in the dark to him now.

Basul held Blackhart's head in one hand and continued to simply brush that fingertip along the crimson lips he had painted on the now black lion's body. The touch there was electric and the older lion could see the muscular younger lion's body tense and muscles flex deliciously as he pulled against the chain-bound leather cuffs, the black-clad erection flexing as Blackhart experienced a prolonged climax that made him shudder in his restraints.

"Too much, perhaps." Basul said in a contemplative murmur to himself as he withdrew his finger and the overwhelming sensations faded almost as quickly as they came, leaving Blackhart stunned and hungry for more. His mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to ask for another touch. Basul shook his head as if understanding the bound slave, "No. It is good you know how that feels but not something you should get for asking." 

Adding something to the bowl of red paint that he had brushed onto Blackhard's lips, Basul crouched and mixed it before dipping his brush again, "No, slave, you will earn that feeling and will enjoy it many times a day but not so easy as this, not again." With that he applied a second and third coat, this time the paint that hung from the slender brush was a deeper red, far less vibrant than before and when tested provided sensation that was pleasant but certainly not as transcendent and overwhelming as before, but Basul didn't stop as the lips. Through the faint pressure that passed for sensation, Blackhart could feel his master push a rubber ring into the space between his upper and lower fangs, thick and stiff it made it impossible for Blackhart to close his mouth should he wish and once more the long handled slender brush dipped into the bowl and came out, this time to disappear some inches further than his lips.

These ministrations went on for a time as the sunlight through the windows at the top of the room skated across the wall. The lack of sensation again carried Blackhart's mind into a drifting state that seemed remote from the passage of time and unconcerned as there was nothing outside of just the floating numbness. He wasn't roused to pay attention again until he saw his master stand and stretch and make faint grunts of discomfort as someone who had spent too long bent over a work bench for delicate work and then walk to one of the myriad of cabinets. He returned with a long tube with bulb on the end and sat once more at his work bench, clasping Blackhart's head in one hand and then feeding the rounded end of the tube into the black lion's muzzle.

Blackhart KNEW he should be upset at this, or choking, the pressure at his throat was faint but real, the closed end of the tube had slipped into his gullet and now stay there as Master Basul prepared another mixture in the bowl and then sucked it up into the elastic bulb. With that he inserted the bulb back into the tube and squeezed. The same tingling that had begun in his lips felt in his throat, warming his neck as the older lion worked with care, steadily squeezing the bulb and working the tube deeper and then more shallowly. The slow back and forth thrusts of the tube were always accompanied by the tingling sensation and that bulb grew smaller as the master squeezed it, whatever was in it coating Blackhart's throat deeper and deeper and soon he felt his belly tingle and he realized that the tube had slipped down his throat and was oozing that crimson gel inside his belly. It wasn't enough to make him feel full, certainly not as much as he drank of the strange mixture each meal for the last week, but as the bulb finished its emptying squeeze Blackhart felt the entire length of his throat and stomach tingling with the faint shadows of the pleasant sensations his lips had caused earlier.

With the tube still down Blackhart's throat, Basul turned back to his mixtures and cleaned out his bowl, moving to mix another batch of bright red 'paint.' This time he made it as he had the first and then once again drew it up into the bulb and fed it through the tube that filled Blackhart's entire muzzle, throat, and protruded into his stomach. This time the entire bulb was emptied without the tube moving and then Basul slowly withdrew the tube and set it aside. Standing again he gave a grunt and patted Blackhart on the taut, sleek black skinned chest. "I need a break and you need to lie still. I will return after I have eaten and rested." With that he stood, tidied up his work area, put away most of his tools and ingredients, and quietly left the room. Blackhart lay there, on his back on the table, and looked around the room. He was alert again but the lack of sensation was making him want to drift away again. He could hear the faint drone of conversation through the closing door as Basul spoke to the guards. After that it was silent in the master's work room and the bar of light high on the wall began to drift as the afternoon drifted on.

As the light on the wall began to take on the faintest of orange tints, signaling late afternoon to the lion on his table, he heard the latch of the door and lifted his head to glance at it. Instead of the expected sight of Basul entering rested and ready to continue whatever this was he saw the taller, far more muscular and hunched profile of one of the hyenas who had guarded him since he came to the estate. The vastly larger hyena pushed the door closed and looked over the bound Blackhart, laying on his back, prick aimed at the air as it seemed to be perpetually now.

The hyena's voice was rough and far less refined than the masters was, a commoner's voice. "Master Basul's been called away. Magistrate business." The large male volunteered as his bulky form walked around the table and towards the lion's head. All while reaching down and unbuckling his belt and sliding the brigantine armor off of his torso and letting his studded kilt fall onto the floor. "But while I figure he's got plans for you seeing as you humiliated the guards with whores, he said we got to test you out first when he was done."

By now the huge shaggy, striped beast stood over his head and Blackhart could not help but see the pendulous swing of the other male's limb of a cock. Wider than it was thick and with a blunt head almost wholly covered by a thick foreskin it hung before his shaggy scrotum like a threat. The hyena looked closely at Blackhart's head and face now, a big, clawed hand grasping the lion's face and fingers lost in the mane. "He already painted your lips like a whore, too."

A thick digit probed into Blackhart's muzzle, "Mmm, bumpy and wet." He said as, head upside down, Blackhart could do nothing but stare now at the swelling mass of that hyena's cock, both terrified at what was about to happen and fascinated as the blunt club of a prick grew before his eyes.

"Even yer fangs are squishy now, all soft and..." the words seemed to fail the big beast at that moment and he reached his free hand down to rub his dick, making that foreskin roll and peel back as he stroked himself the last bit to erection.

"Yuh... that's nice." He said as his finger stroked the ridges in the lion's muzzle while Blackhart's wide eyes fixated on the rolling foreskin and hemisphere of that fat cockhead. He tried to pull his head away but the huge paw that covered most of his face wouldn't let him go and, shamefully, the sensations were very pleasant. The caress on his lips and tongue were wonderful though not as potent as before and he wanted the sensation to continue every bit as much as he didn't want that cock to be pushed into his lips.

Still. One out of two isn't that bad. The guard withdrew his finger and, letting his foreskin bunch up at the crown of that majestic prick, pushed it to Blackhart's O ring mouth. He knew that his muzzle wasn't big enough for that prick and so was astonished when his jaws opened wider, teeth flexed with ease, and the mass of the hyena easily deformed his muzzle enough to slide that oppressively girthy shaft into his muzzle.

The foreskin rolled back and the stretching sensation caused the lion to begin to drool copiously, glossing that broad shaft as the huge beast grunted a wordless sound of feral pleasure at the tightly yielding lion's muzzle. Soon that glossy round knob of the hyena's fat prick slid under the lion's tongue and made the carnassal teeth, now elastic instead of enamel, bend out of the way in preparation for Blackhart's waiting throat.

The deluge of drool that came uncontrollably at the pressure of the hyena's prick forcing the lion's jaw down invited the beast deeper and he wrapped one huge paw around the lion's muzzle to help oblige himself of the suckling sheath. Deeper the guard pushed, Blackhart groaning around the knob as it slammed into the back of his throat and then found purchase and pushed in. Head tilted back and throat exposed the hyena could watch as his cock traveled down the lion's gullet by the bulge that pushed down the lion's neck from the outside and the short muzzled beast grinned in a toothy, leer.

In short order the hyena began a happy rhythm of fucking the lion's face, the yielding ruby O of his mouth, and that slick, ridged, elastic throat. Heavy, shaggy balls swayed and battered at Blackhart's nose and muzzle as he shifted and squirmed, himself not sure if it was to get more or to get away. Grunting and thrusting blissfully, and without regard to Blackhart's forgotten bobbing black-dyed prick, the hyena didn't focus on taking forever but just taking his pleasure. Within a few minutes of increasingly rough facefucking the hips of the beast drove hard to the lion's face, hilting that shaft into his muzzle and throat and the growling grunts peaked with a few quiet yips. The thick sludge of cum that poured from the obviously pent up beast was sprayed and forced down the lion's throat as both of the hyena's hands held the lion's head tight to his crotch.

Trapped so and gulping reflexively, Blackhart was unprepared for the moment the hyena's seed gushed into his stomach. Whatever Basul had done to him and fed him made him suddenly buck against the chains and cuffs in an orgasmic spasm that only made his captive prick throb harder but wash his brain in the same blissful pleasure as if he'd been teased for hours. Each cloying, snotty thick spurt of hyena's cum that hit his stomach wracked his body with the sensation of a powerful orgasm and it soon was too much for him to stay coherent through.

The next thing he could recall he was still laying on the table, hyena semen dripping from his open mouth, up his muzzle and onto the floor. The sun was almost down, it seemed, and the room was a dim ruby color from the sunset's fading light. With him in the room was Basul and the hyena guard, tongue lolling out and once again dressed as if nothing had happened, though the hyena was tossing hungry looks to the bound lion man as if eager for another go. Blackhart, himself, was uncertain if he was similarly eager. The idea of being used like that almost revolted him but then the sensations and... it was a mixed feeling to be sure.

Basul, however, was not allowing time for another such encounter. "Unchain him and return him to his cell. I see you couldn't wait until I was finished." The comment was a mild admonishment but certainly not a rebuke. "Take care, I am not finished and I will not have him injured."

The hyena nodded and grunted, "Yessir," before he undid the cuffs that kept Blackhart restrained and with those huge, strong, warm hands, guided the lion to stand and pushed him not unkindly towards the door where a second guard, another lion of lower rank than Basul, stood with a lantern. Basul stayed behind as the hyena and lion guards led Blackhart out and back down the stairs to his cell.

"He good?" The lion asked from in front of Blackhart, addressing the question to the hyena behind him.

"Yuh, real good. Muzzle only tonight, though."

The lion grunted at that, "Good enough for me, I'll go first when we get down there, you already had your turn."

Blackhart felt again the conflicted revulsion and want for more. The deadened sensations that surrounded him again now that he wasn't 'in use' were all the more unbearable after he realized there were avenues of finding both relief from the numbness and an intense pleasure. Thinking on that made him start to drool and his mouth, held open by Basul's work, glistened and dripped onto the floor.

"Oh, he's ready." The hyena remarked, noticing the drips of saliva as they dotted the smooth stones down into the cellars.

Soon he was back in his cell and the hyena was turning back to where the guards kept post at the entrance to the cellar. The lion, however, did not turn to go. In the same uniform as the hyena he didn't bother taking it off. He simply lifted the armored kilt and flashed his leonine sheath and balls to the captive lion.

"I'm not going to force you to do anything, slave. But Magistrate says you're going to be eager for this. So I'm going to stand here and see if he's telling the truth and you'll come get some dick in that hole on your face because you want it. My partner wasn't willing to wait, but he hasn't seen a hyena gal that would give him the time of day in a few years." With that the leonine guard walked closer to the cage and stood, holding the front of his kilt up, and watched what Blackhart would do.

Having just been locked in, Blackhart still stood, turning to face the other lion and glancing down at the guard's exposed groin. His own cock stood out as it had for well over a day now and he saw the other lion was just beginning to push out of his sheath, the red-pink point revealed over tawny fur. He warred with himself, repulsed at the idea of servicing another male lion's cock but not wanting to slip away into the numbness again. Plus, what would the difference be now? He already had one guard's seed in his belly what would another be.

Shaking his head he sighed through his nostrils, the open hole of his maw dripping again with the answer to his internal conflict and he stepped to the door and wrapped his hands around the bars, sinking to his knees and leaning his head through the gaps to press and nuzzle that golden furred sheath and then push his muzzle flush to the lion's sheath opening. Blackhart used the O of his muzzle to peel back the guard's sheath and slide that ruddy red prick into his muzzle. Distantly he could feel the faint barbs around the lion's shaft and that new sensation, like the hyena's blunt foreskinned prick, thrilled him as he fucked his own rubberized muzzle onto the lion's swelling prick with growing eagerness.

"Shit, you were right, he WAS ready." The lion called down the hall to his partner as the guard let his kilt go and took hold of the bars so as to better lazily fuck against the suckling warm rubber muzzle that was sticking through the bars. The armored leather draped heavily over Blackhart's face and he closed his eyes, falling into a darkness where all that he felt and knew was the hot flesh sliding into his muzzle and back of his throat. The lion wasn't as blessed as the hyena had been but Blackhart did not care, it was warm and pleasant sensation and he started to wake to the task, working his thick, rubber tongue along the curves and keel of that red cock. It wasn't long before the lion guard was reduced to growling and stifling snarls and then he pushed hard enough to make Blackhart's head slip back from the bars a bit and spilled his seed into the rubber lion's muzzle.

The slave gulped and once more the moment that fresh cum slid into his belly he was struck with a sudden shuddering pleasure that suffused him, as strong as any climax he'd known in his prior life and it made his captive prick jerk and twitch in sympathy. He knelt in the straw, suckling clean his guard, his black body tense and shaft bobbing and twitching in mock orgasm.

After only a moment or two of this cleaning the lion guard gave a sharp grunt and put his hand on Blackhart's muzzle, pushing it away as oversensitivity threatened. "Now now, that's enough for now. We'll go again in a bit."

The lion let his kilt fall as he gave a stretch, grinning down at the sight of Blackhart kneeling, red lips dripping lion cum, "Damn you're an eager little thing."

Blackhart felt embarrassed by that, a tiny bit, but it was only the faintest flicker of shame at having so quickly gone from master thief to kneeling in the straw sucking the dick of his guards. Then it vanished, the flame of embarrassment guttering out. It would not show itself again throughout the night as the hyena and lion guard took turns periodically coming to test the new, eager hole at the front of the slave's muzzle.

The next day came more slowly than the guards had. Late in the morning Basul joined them in the cells, making a remark about the smell of rutting that now hung in the room as he approached. The guards had changed from the night before, now a pair of different hyenas who had not had the opportunities afforded the guards the night before. Their kilts showed the effect the smell of Blackhart's frequent use had on them, but Basul's presence would keep them from their sport... for now.

Basul held another mug of the thick concoction that had begun this process a week ago and stepped to the cage door. "Here. You will need this for today's procedure."

Obediently and bordering on eagerly, Blackhart reached his smooth hands up to take the mug and had to tilt his head back and pour the dark, herby liquid into the hole of his muzzle. Not able to close his muzzle to drink or swallow as normal he had to stand there and simply drool the thick liquid into his open maw and gulp it down. The sensation was not as intensely pleasurable as the two guards's cum had been but it was satisfying and warming and it filled him with more energy than the night's intermittent sleep had.

Blackhart passed the mug back and it was in turn handed to one of the guards as Basul directed the cell be open. He was let out and led back up the stairs, once again to the Magistrate's workshop.

The table was still there but the chains had been adjusted, two were much longer and lay halfway across the table and the others lay on the floor, cuffs open and waiting. Between the guards and Basul's direction it wasn't long before Blackhart was bent over the edge of the table, chest and stomach resting on the polished wood, as his legs were spread and cuffed to the legs of the table, leaving him bent over sharply. Lastly his tail was pulled up and to the side wrapped with straps to keep it out of the way as Blackhart found himself exposed from undertail to his hanging black latex scrotum. That perpetually erect black shaft pointing out along the underside of the table as he squirmed under the eyes of both guards and the Masgistrate.

Basul ordered the guards out, their hungry eyes lingering on Blackhart's exposed ass as they went, then stepped up behind the bound slave and probed a finger at the tight ring of black clad flesh that was his asshole. It tensed reflexively and Blackhart knew what was to come. He wasn't a total stranger to being fucked, hardly anyone born outside of wealth was. The harems of the wealthy were always a drain on the amount of eligible lionesses or other species females in the city. As such it left a lot of bachelors with needs that society encouraged them privately have met with other males from time to time.

Basul was, despite his wealth and power, obviously no stranger to this either. His fingers rubbed with a certain amount of practiced skill along the ring and rubberized flesh around it before he departed and, out of Blackhart's view, the sounds of bottles and bowls and preparation same as the day before began. Blackhart could do little but stand bent over the table, staring at the door and walls opposite as he heard Basul prepare then return and draw over his stool to work. The sensations were both the same and strangely alien as the Magistrate worked. His ring was massaged and then brushed and the faintest tingling began there under his tail. The ring and immediately surrounding area was painted with the crimson paint that adorned his lips like some whore's invitation and then the tube and bulb were once more drawn from their cupboard and put to use. Narrow though the tube may have been, its pressure felt intense and as it slithered in leaving its trail of piped in paint, the warm tingling sensation of change began to slither deeper into Blackhart as well.

Copious changing fluid was fed into his rear as the tube worked back and forth inside of him, the sensation reminding the slave of the times he had born an older male on his back and had hidden the fact that being mounted like that had made him climax. He hadn't wanted to accept that part was so pleasant for him but now he couldn't escape it and for the moment it was the only sensation given to him and so he surrendered to and reveled in the narrow tube remaking his insides. Then... it was over. The tube withdrawn and Basul began to collect up his items and tidy them away. Half the day was gone again and Blackhart lay there ass exposed, wondering if Basul would again find flimsy excuse to depart and leave him to the waiting guards.

The thought no longer appalled him. He imagined them as blessed as the hyena he had been used by the day before, that broad prick with its smooth knob and folds of thick foreskin and he drooled onto the table from his perpetually open mouth.

"You are drooling." Basul said from behind him. Blackhart was impressed at first, not sure how the older lion could have seen from his angle, but a finger ran up the back of his scrotum and perineum, slick and slippery, making the bound lion realize he was 'drooling' from both ends at the thought of the hyenas.

"They were right. You are falling into this role very well." The older lion's rich rumbling voice said as the sounds of shifting fabric could be heard over Blackhart's shoulder. "And I do not intend to let the guards have the pleasure of the first use of your new hole."

Blackhart tensed in his bonds at that, twisting as best he could to try and see his Master. There the older lion stood, bare chested and presumably bare crotched, behind blackhart's upturned ink-colored ass. A thrill shot through the captive male as Basul approached and placed a hand on one round buttock, spreading the cheeks, "Yes, a nice red ring. Inviting and impossible to miss." He said as he stepped forward and let his leonine prick kiss that slippery, drooling pucker at the base of Blackhart's tail.

There was just enough resistance, just the right amount, as Basul pushed himself against Blackhart's ruby ring. The slide was intense and made Blackhart groan through his nostrils and squirm himself back towards the intruder and his master. Hands spread over his black-skinned hip and one wrapped around the wide base of his tail as the more powerful lion worked himself into that welcoming, slippery, gripping rubber fuckhole that Blackhart's ass had been turned into.

Faint pricking of his master's barbs sent shivers through him as in short order Basul began slapping his hips to the round, resilient rubber ass under him. Grunting thrusts jabbed that slender, long cock deep into Blackhart's ring. Those sensations were now all that Blackhart lived for, being used, the heat of that intrusion, the throb of the cock and grip as it slid within him. And he squeezed and clenched and milked and hoped against hope that when his master came he'd feel the same intoxicating bliss as when he had, so many times the night before, been fed his jailers' cum.

Basul's thrusts were practiced and he rolled his hips sinuously as though he were with one of his lionesses, taking his time and slowing if he felt he was getting too close to release too soon. Soon he rested his bulk on top of the bound lion, rutting him chest to back and growling pleasantly into his slave's ears. 

For his part Blackhart rolled his hips and soon got into the rhythm of pushing back, and gripping with his ass, and working hard to pleasure that prick in him. Before long Basul's thrusting drove more eagerly and bit hard at the resilient rubbery flesh that was Blackhart's nape. The sharp ivory teeth squeaked across the captive lion's nape and tugged, barely felt by Blackhart and certainly in no danger of harming that tough, slick hide.

With a few ragged final thrusts, each slamming against Blackhart's upturned ass, Basul drove his spike of a prick hard into the younger lion, ending with his entire sheath bunched up at the ruby ring of the slave's ass, cock totally sheathed, and his cock pulsing a rich load of master's seed into him.

The lightning strike of pleasure was, if anything, stronger than it had been as he was being fed the night before and he writhed into it, arching his back and pushing his chest to the table as best he could in his restraints. He wallowed in the blissful waves that came from the warm spurts into his altered guts, swaying his hips slightly and trying to coax more from the Magistrate to no avail.

Basul finished and without ceremony withdrew himself and used a handy rag to clean himself, making no motion to wipe up what leaked from Blackhart's freshly broken in new ruby ring.

"That will do." Was all the older lion said before he picked up his robes from where they lay on the floor and arranged so it didn't look as though the master of the house had just had a rough fuck with a commoner. He walked to the door and opened it, speaking to the waiting guards. "We are finished. Come in and we shall dress him for his new assignment."

Curiously, as he came down from the post-fuck high, Blackhart watched as the two hyena guards entered and Basul went to a wardrobe, opening it and withdrawing a jacket of heavy, cream colored canvas. The arms of which trailed to the ground, held down by heavy steel rings and fittings.

Blackhart was uncuffed from the table and helped to stand. If the two hyenas noticed the cum oozing from under his tail then they were wise enough not to comment on it. He was made to stand and have his arms pushed into the sleeves then the back was laced closed. Soon he stood, arms crossed infront of him, hands wrapped around their sides, as the straight jacket was tightened by surprisingly practiced hands of the magistrate. Snug and mostly immobile, Blackhart stood between the two obviously aroused hyenas, looking curiously at the lion as he checked the jacket one last time and stepped back.

"There." He looked the bound and much changed Blackhart in the eyes and said, "The city, while enslaving you, also owes you a debt, Blackhart. You have exposed a weakness in our policies that created guards so sexually frustrated as to desert their posts when propositioned by whores. It is a known weakness of our culture's keeping of harems. So to address this issue, tonight and for a great many nights to come you will be taken to the guard barracks around the city and strapped to tables there to help with the intense need for sexual relief our soldiers and guards have."

The magistrate glanced first to one hyena guard and then the other, "Do make sure he isn't too late in arriving at the first barracks tonight and bring him back promptly before first watch change."

With that Magistrate Basul turned, leaving Blackhart to his guards. They'd get to that first barracks... eventually.


End file.
